


Drowning in Silk

by LuciferxDamien



Category: Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, First Time with Partner of the Same Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Old Dracula, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Guilt, Vampire Turning, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferxDamien/pseuds/LuciferxDamien
Summary: Dracula has certain tastes, and he never drinkswine.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 228
Collections: Wayback Exchange 2020





	Drowning in Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



The sun was beginning to set and Jonathan just felt sluggish, staring out over the bleak courtyard. He was trapped, he knew it. He should fight it, but… All he desired was to lay in his bed, his crucifix held overhead; it seemed to be his only saviour in this Godforsaken place. 

A knock startled Jonathan and the Count appeared in the doorway, never bothering to wait for an answer. Jonathan turned, his fists gripped hard at his sides. 

“Your meal… It awaits…” Dracula bowed, grinning at him sinister. 

Jonathan knew he had no choice but to follow. He followed after the Count by several yards, the silk of his long robe trailing behind him as they descended the winding staircase to the great hall. Sun peeked through the small windows and Jonathan was filled with a terrible sense of dread as the last of the sun’s light reached him. 

Dracula turned around just then as Jonathan swallowed hard. It was a wicked look that the Count wore, grinning at him with sharp, white teeth. 

Such a startling man, with his long, white hair swept up into a style, and it bothered Jonathan that there never seemed to be a single attendant in this place, but then ah… 

Yes. 

The Count wasn’t human, was he…? 

How could he forget… 

His mind wandered as he was led to the table, a sense of foreboding churning inside of Jonathan like a great, raging storm that tossed the seas. He did not feel hungry, but he picked at his food all the same as Dracula sat on his settee, near the fireplace, watching him, chin held in his hand. Long claw-like nails decorated his fingers and Jonathan had to look away. 

This was such a truly terrible place. 

He picked up his wine, finding the smell offensive and Dracula perked up at that, quirking his brow at him, waiting, watching… 

Jonathan defiantly drank it, feeling it cool down his throat, and there was a certain enjoyment in that, especially as the Count slumped back against his cushions, looking less interested in him. This had been a ritual for some nights now. Weeks, perhaps? 

Dracula was most certainly waiting for something, something horrible, Jonathan was certain. 

He took another drink, wondering vaguely if the drink or food had been poisoned, Dracula himself never ate, nor drank, after all… 

But it had been some weeks now and Jonathan felt sluggish in the sunlight, but as the light dropped and the moon rose high, he had felt more invigorated, strength surging through him in a way that felt wholly wrong, and yet, he craved it. 

A tickle began in the back of Jonathan’s throat and he tried to clear it away but found himself choking, coughing. He pushed away from the table, his chair falling over and Dracula stood, looking at him with _such_ interest. 

Jonathan coughed more, his stomach doing flips and then, much to his embarrassment, he emptied his gut onto the floor. 

“Oh…” Dracula whispered. “I had almost given up hope that this would be the night…” 

The devil came over to him, standing, watching, head cocked to the side as he grinned. How dare he be so amused at the pain surging through Jonathan’s body! 

“L-leave me!” Jonathan wretched again and Dracula just sighed, looking at him with sad eyes. It seemed a mockery, for it was no man that looked at him, it was a monster! 

“If you wish, Mr. Harker…” Dracula sighed, turning away, ambling out of the room in that way of his. 

Watching the creature drift out of the room had Jonathan scrambling, panic striking him such force, filling him with a torrent of tumult. In a moment of weakness, Jonathan reached out for the long, bloodstained robes that trailed after the Count, barely managing to grasp the hem and Dracula gasped at him. 

Jonathan was desperate for something, something he could not articulate. He sobbed, trying to pull himself to the monster. 

“P-please…” Jonathan sobbed, tears staining his cheeks and Dracula cooed as he came to him, his robes twisting around, covering the floor in front of the fireplace. 

“My sweet…” Dracula pulled Jonathan into his arms, kneeling on his robes. He bent his head down, his long white hair tumbling over his shoulders and Jonathan groaned, something pressing into his neck. 

Jonathan was cradled in the monster’s arms and he sobbed, digging his weak fingers into Dracula’s clothing, searching for anything to hold onto. “W-what have you…” 

“Mmm…” Dracula cooed, a cool cloth procured for somewhere, pressing it to Jonathan’s heated face, wiping away the sweat and mess. “Hush… It is always painful, but soon… Soon…” Dracula smiled at him with blood stains on his lips and Jonathan realized he’d been bitten, again. 

Of course it was again… 

Jonathan felt weak as he was laid back onto the floor, cradled in the silken folds of Dracula’s robes. 

“Did I not say I never drink _wine_?” Dracula was amused, running his hands down Jonathan’s body, feeling him through his clothing. “I will make you a bride, now…” He knew that his clothing would not remain, he knew that his humiliation had only just begun. 

He choked on his tears, his throat hot and burning, tears staining his cheeks as he was disrobed. It was slow, sensual, the Count taking his time, savouring every last inch of flesh that he bared, marveling at him. Jonathan sobbed, violated, humiliated. 

The silk of Dracula’s robes haloed around him, rough in his hands as his nerves sparked, palms tingling. He knew what it meant, though he did not know how, he knew just what Dracula meant, calling him _bride_. 

It was sin that Dracula spoke of and Jonathan sobbed, turning his reddened face away, writhing and attempting to kick the beast away, but he had no strength, the creature had stolen it from him with a kiss of his fangs. 

“Th-this is wrong…” Jonathan could only attempt to plead with the monster, though he knew his words would fall to the wayside, just as his clothing had, just as his legs had, accommodating Dracula almost eagerly. The only warmth in the room was from the roaring fire he was laid out next to. He turned his head, staring into the flames, hissing as he felt claws scraping down his chest, teasing at his chest, playing with his nipples and when a cold mouth attached to his chest like a nursing babe, Jonathan shouted. 

It was perverse and he was limp, as if he were allowing himself to be used by this creature. He couldn’t even breathe out a shaky prayer to God, as he felt himself growing erect, the little blood left in his body flowing southward. 

Dracula pulled back, lips bloodied, humming his approval. “Ah… I knew you would enjoy this, my dear… You and I, we are men of certain _tastes_.” 

Jonathan gave a broken sob, a cold hand wrapping around his hard cock. The robes fell away from the beast’s pale shoulders, revealing skin as white as sheets, smooth, like fine marble. It was wrong to want to touch, and Jonathan lay there, listless, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he watched Dracula bend down, his mouth wrapping around Jonathan’s cock in the most perverse of actions! 

It was too much, his body overwrought. Dracula pleasured him with his mouth, sucking him down to the root, pulling back to the tip, making all manner of indecent noises that echoed off the stone walls. 

Jonathan surged, his fingers searching for purchase as a rather unfamiliar sensation shot through him, a bursting of pleasure that had him shouting, attempting to curl and coil into himself, but strong hands held him down by his hip and thigh, long, sharp fingernails pricking him. 

Dracula pulled back, licking his lips in the most lascivious of ways. 

Jonathan felt himself at the verge of passing out, but Dracula was cooing at him, licking away the last of Jonathan’s spill from his fingers before he bit at the tips and forced them into Jonathan’s mouth. 

He attempted to get away, writhing on the silken robe, twisting it around him and vaguely he wondered if it looked like he were surrounded by broken wings. Resisting the blood was futile and he was drinking it, eager for more and Dracula pulled away, only giving him just enough, laughing. 

“There is more to come, my sweet… We must practice restraint, not devolve into beasts,” Dracula whispered to him, amused, and as the fire flickered, Jonathan thought the monster might have been beautiful, shadows dancing across his face. 

Cold fingers drifted down his body, teasing him, caressing him, and _there_ he felt it… The bloodied fingers pressing into a place they ought not have. Jonathan was falling from grace, parting his thighs further, allowing the intrusion into his body, welcoming it, even, if his hardened cock were to be an indication. 

He looked away, shamed and wanton, like a creature of pleasure, always craving more. Any pitiful look he had ever given a harlot seemed rather hypocritical now. 

Dracula took his fingers away and Jonathan hated that he wanted them back. 

“Hush… There is more to be had…” 

Jonathan feared that. He desired it. He feared that he desired it.

Something slick bumped against Jonathan’s hole, and vaguely he smelled blood, knowing just what the Count used to coat himself. Whether the blood was Jonathan’s own or the Count’s didn’t seem to matter, as they shared what was left of Jonathan’s life essence. 

He arched, penetrated, his entire body burning, and yet singing for more. He gasped out, feeling Dracula settled cold and solid against him, deep within. 

Dracula seemed to tremble, reaching to caress his bloodied fingers to Jonathan’s cheek. “Ah… Such exquisite…” he trailed off, his eyes shut as he pulled back, hissing and reveling in the tightness that Jonathan inflicted around his cock. 

He moved, the beast moved! And Jonathan howled. Pain blossomed from between his legs, his knees shaking, his thighs quivering as he was forced open, forced to endure such humiliation and… 

Jonathan knew he should not protest, even in his own mind, not when his cock stood proud, leaking pre-seed, not after he had already spilled for the monster, and he knew he would spill again as Dracula moved, slow at first, far too slow. 

Why did he crave more?! What sort of witchcraft was this, that had him desiring _more_ of this monster’s ministrations?! 

Jonathan did not know, he could not possibly know but he sobbed as pleasure rippled through his body, Dracula thrusting into him with proper brute force, slapping against him, the sounds echoing back at him, as if in mockery. 

And Jonathan took that mockery with delight, mouth hanging open with no intention of stifling his cries of want. What use was there in denying he tumbled with a devil? There was no need to add lying to this night’s list of sins. 

Jonathan was drowning, overcome with sensations, the way the silk slid against his skin

He keened, pushed into one too many times, his cock jerking and twitching, spasming as he painted himself white, his spill hitting the Count as well. Dracula chuckled at him, shaking his head and whispering all manner of devious things. They were promises and Jonathan was rather certain he would make the Count keep such promises. 

Claws dug into Jonathan’s thighs, his legs pushed up, his body limp and existing only for Dracula’s pleasure as he was thrust into, over and over again. It burned, it stung, Jonathan felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and perhaps, he too, spilled once more as he felt a coolness flooding his insides, Dracula giving him a stuttered gasp, showing far more restraint and control than Jonathan possibly could. 

Shadows still danced in the room, though the fire had grown dim, as Jonathan opened his eyes and he was aware he must have passed out, wholly at the mercy of the beast. Dracula laid next to him, they were cradled in the long robe, the silk crisp against Jonathan’s overstimulated skin. Jonathan mused to himself that the silk resembled the ocean, churning and angry, piled up around them, rippling outward in waves of white and crimson. 

It was Jonathan’s crimson staining the silk, dyeing it with his life force, drowning in it now as he allowed a monster to hold him close, as if they were lovers… No, as if they were man and wife. 

“You look like… a falling angel, joining me in disgrace…” Dracula chuckled, his voice husky. He gathered Jonathan into his arms, bending his head to give him a chaste kiss as the last of Jonathan’s warmth vanished from his body, filled instead with something else, something wicked, sinister… 

A craving for blood, for life’s essence. It would appear that he, too, had a changing of tastes and would never again drink _wine_. 


End file.
